


A Good Dog

by titC



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Dog - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, M/M, doggoview, mention of past bad pet owner, what it says on the tin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Really, it's in the title ;-)
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 20
Kudos: 116
Collections: Fratt Week, Marvel Fluff Bingo





	A Good Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Fratt Week](https://frattweek.tumblr.com/) 1, for the prompt _Dog_. Also fits my [Marvel Fluff Bingo](https://marvelfluffbingo.tumblr.com/) card prompt _Walking the dog_.  
> Big thanks to [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelbypixel) for the beta ♥  
> WAY fluffier than my first Fratt Week fic ;-)
> 
> Now with a PODFIC version :D Thank you ♥

Max knew he was a good dog, now. He guarded the home, sat when Frank told him to, and fetched the ball when he was supposed to.

Before Frank, life had been different; there had been kicks and yells and they’d say he was a bad dog. He’d always been hungry and cold. Then one night there had been a lot of noises and screams and the smell of blood, but he’d been chained. He’d pulled and pulled; he’d barked and growled and done all he could, but it had been for nothing: the man who’d fed him most days was lying down in front of the house, and he wouldn’t move ever again.

Another man had walked down the front steps. He’d given the body a kick; Max had whined in sympathy because he knew what being kicked felt like. The man had turned his head and whistled.

“Hey,” the man had said.

Max had growled. The man hadn’t been scared; he’d knelt, checked Max’s collar, and scratched his head.

“Max, yeah? I’m Frank.”

And then he’d taken him home.

Max’s new life was better: Frank gave him food every day ( _twice_ a day!), and Max never slept outside anymore. Sometimes Frank washed him and Max smelled all strange for a while, but that wasn’t too bad. He had his own bed, his toys, his bowls; there were other dogs to play with in the park just like when he’d been a pup, before he’d ended up chained in front of a house. Frank had his own toys too, but Max wasn’t allowed to play with them. They were cold and smelled like metal and pain. Frank would put them on a table and take them apart, then back together again. They were strange toys, and Max didn’t really want to play with them anyway.

When Frank took them with him before leaving home, Max knew he’d come back smelling like blood and burned things, and sometimes limping and hurt. He’d go into the water room and when he came out he’d let Max jump next to him on the bed. Max didn’t like it when Frank was hurt, but he liked being allowed on the bed.

All in all, it was a good life.

But more and more often, Frank would take the strange toys with him and not come back until morning. Max was worried and so he was extra enthusiastic when Frank got home, but it didn’t make a difference. Frank still stayed out until it was day again. After a while, Max noticed several things: Frank didn’t always come back wearing the same clothes he’d left with – they smelled like someone else, always the same someone else – and there was less blood, less limping.

Frank still fed Max, and took him on walks, and talked to him. Max didn’t understand everything; he understood _down_ , and _walk_ , and _food_ , and _good boy_. He understood the important things that Frank told him, and he knew how to do everything that made him a _good boy_. He didn’t always do those things, it was true, but sometimes one had to go splash in the big water for a stick, even if it meant _not_ being a good boy. Frank still gave him pets and fed him and scratched his ears when Max jumped on the couch, so he couldn't be a very bad dog, right? Not anymore.

So what did it mean, that Frank left him at night? Max tried to get him to stay; he caught the fabric around his leg and pulled or he sat in front of the door and wouldn’t let Frank out. He did everything he could, but still Frank left.

Max worried.

He hoped he was still a good dog.

Still, Frank wouldn’t go out _every_ night; sometimes they went out for long walks in the streets, just the two of them. They didn’t go to the park at night, but it was fine. Max liked the streets too; they were full of smells and there were fewer noisy moving boxes than in the day.

That night, they walked for a long time, in streets Max didn’t know. He was excited to discover them and mark them, and Frank never made him hurry; he would look up and forget about Max. Maybe he saw… squirrels? Max couldn't see or hear or smell squirrels, but Frank’s nose was far above Max’s; who knew what he could spot?

A man walked up to them and talked to Frank; his voice was angry. Maybe he was telling Frank _he_ wasn’t a good boy, but that would be a lie: Frank was very good. Max growled a little, just to show he was ready to fight for Frank. The man’s voice got a bit louder but Frank’s remained even; he even held up a bag of Max’s poop. (Sometimes Frank liked to pick up Max’s poop, but he never kept it: he shoved it in a smelly box. Max didn’t understand why.) The angry man looked at the poop, then at Max, then strode away, and Frank crouched to pet Max: still a good dog, then. Max wagged his tail happily and they resumed the walk, but it didn’t last long: there was a big crash inside a building, and Frank pulled sharply on the leash and stayed behind a wall.

Frank made low, angry noises and he tied the leash to something. He got one of his strange toys out and Max couldn’t follow him when Frank left him. Max was very frightened; this wasn’t a normal night walk. He was trapped and there were loud, scary noises, and would Frank ever come out? Max whined and pulled on the leash; maybe he could get to Frank? What if he needed Max? He whined and he pulled, but Frank was back before Max could free himself.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Good boy,” Frank said, and when he’d untied the leash Max jumped and barked and ran around Frank. The other man didn’t say anything. When Max was done letting Frank know he was happy to see him again the other man knelt and held out his hand. Max went to give it a sniff and under the smell of fire and blood there was Frank, too. Max had smelled the man before, on _Frank_ , when he was back after a night away.

The other man stood up and said something to Frank, and after that they walked back home. All three of them.

The man had never been home; it had always just been Max and Frank. Max didn’t know if he liked the other man yet, but Frank seemed content to walk a little bit slower because the man was limping and holding Frank’s arm, so maybe he was okay. Frank wouldn’t let someone bad hold him, surely?

Once they got home, Frank and the man got into the water room and closed the door, so Max lay down outside and waited for them to come out again. There were water noises and voices, smells of blood and the other smell that always came with it, sharp and unpleasant. It reminded Max of when Frank took him to the lady who put him up on a table and poked him with sharp, pointy things. He hoped Frank wasn’t going through that, in the water room. At least the voices inside were not scared or angry like Max would feel when he was on the lady’s table.

After a while they got out, damp and naked; Max hoped it meant he’d be allowed on the bed tonight if there had been blood and limping. But what about the other man? He was following Frank into the room; would he take Max’s spot on the bed? Max watched them before deciding what to do. He nosed open the door they’d only pushed closed, and peered in. They didn’t seem to notice him, and Max kept quiet. He had to be ready in case Frank needed him.

As Max watched, the other man made a happy noise and pushed Frank down on the bed; he was on all fours over him and Max worried again about being left aside. He’d thought he’d been the only one allowed to do that! But Frank was happy with it; he scratched the other man’s side, and then they did things that Max didn’t recognize. At first it looked and sounded like play fighting, but then it was like both were submitting to the other – showing their bellies, their necks; nosing each other’s bodies and smelling and licking… What was happening? Max sat and waited; if Frank started to make worrying sounds he’d jump in and save him. He was a good dog, after all.

But Max didn’t have to protect Frank. After they’d finished playing, Frank and the other man stayed under the covers but they were all quiet now, breathing heavily and whispering. Max whined, and Frank showed his teeth in a happy way. The other man patted the bed and Max understood that very well: he jumped on, and got pets from two people. _Two!_

“Hey, Max,” the other man said. “I’m Matt. You’re a good boy.”

Max settled between all the legs and rested his chin on one.

Yes, he was.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] A Good Dog](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420335) by [Metaderivative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metaderivative/pseuds/Metaderivative)




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